Clermont County Sheriff A.J. Rodenberg checks out a house mostly destroyed in Moscow on Saturday, March 3, 2012. Moscow was devastated in yesterday's storms. / The Enquirer/Leigh Taylor

Related Links

The land rises gently from the banks of the Ohio River and into the village of Moscow.

It ascends through the six blocks of town, past the post office and the old pub that hasn’t been open for years.

Up Elizabeth Street and across Cedar Alley, it was the perfect path for an unholy storm.

On Friday, the tornado went over the river and swept through the village and then crossed the two-lane highway, where the trees, mostly oaks and pines and elms, grow dense and the hill steepens.

At the very top of the hill live Mr. and Mrs. William Miller, who have overlooked Moscow from their home for 40 years.

From there they could see the storm coming Friday, so they went into their basement with two grandchildren and two dogs.

When they stepped out, they saw centuries-old oak trees, thick and powerful, snapped and lying on the ground. Roofs were visible, lying across the floor of the forest, nowhere near the homes they belonged to.

From the top of the hill, the devastation of Moscow comes into focus.

“This was a piece of God’s country, but it’s not anymore,” Mrs. Miller said Saturday. “Maybe it will be again. Maybe in 200 years.”

If there were a time to give up, this would be it.

Fifteen years ago this week, Moscow survived a devastating flood, but just barely.

In 2007, a mayoral candidate suggested the village might not exist in a few years. There are not a lot of steady jobs in the area, so those who can find work need to drive to it. The population now sits at a couple of hundred, really more of a guess than an official count.

The first day after the storm, some wondered if Moscow could make it back, or even if it should.

“Honestly, I don’t know if it will be OK,” said Cindy Gorth, who lives in Moscow and lost her aunt, the town’s only casualty, in the storm. “Some of these houses were lost in the flood. And now this? You have to wonder if it’s worth it.”

Still, Moscow is resolute. Even as Gorth questioned the wisdom of the very existence of the town, she was preparing to start working on her home.

Jackie Tisdale has lived in the town her entire life. Now 50, she grew up in the house she now lives in, having purchased it from her parents.

“I was born in Moscow. He married into it, poor dear,” Jackie said of her husband, Glen. The two of them were walking up the street with their dog, Rocko, and suitcases.

When the storm hit, they both had raced back to their home to find Jackie’s 89-year-old mother and their dog, a mutt, who once fit in the palm of Glen’s hand.

Jackie’s mom had a bloody nose, but that was all, and Rocko was petrified but not injured.

They had left their home a few hours after the storm on Friday night, which meant they were not allowed back in Saturday morning because all of the homes had not yet been inspected. But Jackie, a postal clerk, needed her work uniform and Glen wanted the insurance papers and some fresh clothes.

So when the deputy at one of the village’s two entrances told them he could not let them in, they said fine. Then they sneaked through the woods and into their house.

“That’s the Moscow way,” Jackie said. “I wanted to see my gardens.”

The Tisdales were among the lucky ones. Their home has some roof damage and lots of storm debris.

The ferocity of the storm becomes more visible as you walk down toward the river’s edge. Roofs gone, windows smashed, cars crushed under trees, some of which were snapped and some of which were pulled from the ground like enormous weeds, their roots covered in wet earth.

The streets were vibrant Saturday with trucks and workers starting the first stages of renewal. Engines belched and diesel fumes filled the air as workers began clearing streets.

Next, the infrastructure will need to be restored, and then homes will need to be torn down or reborn.

House after house held a tag on the door handle, placed there by inspection crews. Yellow meant the home was damaged but safe enough to enter. Red meant it was not.

“There are a lot of red tags,” said Clermont County Sheriff A.J. Rodenberg as he walked the streets. “Catastrophe is the right word.”

Moments later, late in the afternoon, with the sun strong and some warmth finally in the air, Shannon Grooms walked into town for the first time since Friday night.

He wanted to get back because his dogs were in the house and his friend’s dogs were in the garage. Grooms put them there just before he left, because his friend’s home was destroyed.

“That’s Moscow. You help people out,” Grooms said. Grooms had barely made it into his basement shelter when the tornado hit. First he had to convince his wife the storm was really coming, he said. And then he had to run upstairs to grab flashlights.

That’s when the front door was pulled from the house and then the rear door. “Then it was just howling in here, man. The wind thrusted me down the stairs. That story about the train is right. It sounded like a freight train.”

His home was damaged but not destroyed. Just like the town, he said.

“My family bought the gas station here when I was 14 years old. This is home for me,” Grooms said. “It’s like family. We’ll help each other.”

From the back of his house, the top of the hill is visible across U.S. 52.

All afternoon, the sound of chainsaws riffed up and down the hill. The Millers’ grandchildren had been up since first light, clearing paths as their grandfather drove around in his golf cart with gas to refuel their saws.

“This hill will survive,” Miller said. “We lost a lot of trees, but trees grow.”